


Parry.

by pandashurley



Series: Duel [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Forced Sex, Hurt, Kidnapping, M/M, Porn, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandashurley/pseuds/pandashurley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock sit down to have a conversation. Jim is jealous. He is not second place. He is not a filler. Sherlock needs to be taught a lesson.</p>
<p>Takes place right after Pt. 2- Touche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parry.

John tensed as he heard Sherlock pad quietly past him and heard him sink into his leather chair by the fireplace. While this conversation was a long time coming, John wasn't entirely sure he wanted to have it. He had to admit that he was still a little drunk, but seeing what he saw, that hadn't lasted long. John poured out the tea and brought Sherlock his cup, sitting in his own chair and finally allowing himself to relax. This wasn't going to be the easiest conversation. There were going to be a lot of issues, starting first and foremost with this twisted relationship that was currently going on under his own roof. The pause that they were in was going to be hard to break. It was how they spent most of their time, in silence. A silence filled with understanding and connection, but it was silence none the less.

"Were you really that jealous of all the women?" John asked, sipping at his now not too hot tea.

"Admittedly, yes. But not in the way you might think. I know I've never had to compete for your attention, how you were always willing to drop anything at a moments notice and come help me. I was jealous of how often they kept you from me." Sherlock said, placing his cup down on the table. "Ever since the incident at the pool, your efforts redoubled to find someone. We never got to talk about what happened, what you said, how we felt."

"It was a pretty jarring realization of my own mortality, Sherlock." John countered.

"And of course I understand that. However, you were in a war zone, John. Death is something that is not uncommon for you. You were shot, you've seen people die. As a doctor, I'm sure you have watched your fair share perish." Sherlock responded. John's jaw was set hard. It almost looked as if he was grinding his teeth at Sherlock's observation.

"I don't know what made it so different. Maybe because we agreed to die together if it would kill Moriarty too..." John said, a pang of heartache hitting him as Sherlock's face twitched at the words 'die' and 'Moriarty'. It was hard to see someone originally so stoic have such vulnerability.

"At the time, it was what I wanted." Sherlock murmured, curling his arms in on himself. "I do not want things often." Sherlock knew that words couldn't convey how important John was. Their agreement was made because Sherlock didn't want to live without his blogger. His doctor. His friend.

"I know you don't. Which is why I thought it best to give us both some space. It was a big thing for both of us to admit or come to terms with. In the span of seconds, Sherlock, we agreed to die together. When we didn't, there was so much tension... Our relationship was obviously complicated and wasn't about to get any easier. I had no bloody idea how to go about... anything really, after that happened." John said, finishing his tea and setting the cup down.

"So you went back to patterns that had proved lucrative in the past. Sexually at least." Sherlock said bitterly.

"I still don't understand why you're so..." John gestured at him vaguely. He couldn't come up with the appropriate word. Sherlock wasn't needy or anything like that. He was something so unique. Something so individual that trying to describe him like anyone else was utterly pointless. "So... broken." John finally spat out, for lack of a better term. Sherlock's eyes darkened with anger as he stared across the short distance at John.

"Is that your honest opinion? That I am broken?" Sherlock asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"No, but I can't think of a better word this late." John responded with a half hearted smile.

"Then what is your honest opinion?" Flashes of hope crossed over Sherlock's face as he asked this potentially life altering question. John sighed.

"You know I think you're brilliant. Fantastic. Stunning. Your mind is one of the most amazing things I have ever had the pleasure to experience in my entire life. The way you notice things and connect things, it's completely fascinating. It's the rest of you that comes hard. The ignorance of your own body, not eating or sleeping. The way you perceive others, like they're stupid. You see yourself as a god, reigning over a planet full of unintelligent peasants who cannot measure up to your impossible standards." John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Which is why I can see and understand this attraction, this relationship you have with Moriarty. How often does one impossible thing find another impossible thing? And be happy?"

"How exactly do you know I'm happy?" Sherlock asked. John huffed out a laugh.

"Are you being serious?" John asked him back.

"I'm happy when I'm with you, John. Ji-Moriarty is a distraction. Granted, there are some semblance of feelings, but nothing like what I feel for you." Sherlock said.

"What do you feel for me, then?" John asked, shifting forward in his chair.

"When I first met you, I saw the loneliness. I recognized it. You came home from Afghanistan feeling like you were returning to an alien planet. No one could understand what you had seen, what you had gone through, the PTSD that was still haunting you. You retreated and found a home inside yourself to hide." Sherlock said, curling into himself and pulling himself further away from John. "I did it too. My mind intimidated most. I constantly felt like I was on an alien planet. When I saw the loneliness in you, I thought finally that I found someone who understood. Someone who I could connect with."

"That still doesn't answer my question." John reiterated.

"I already told you that. I love you, John and I have for a very long time. I'm glad to know the feeling is mutual." Sherlock answered, flashing John a small smile.

"I don't remember saying anything remotely like that." John said, his face still set in stone.

"Not out loud, no. But explain how you drop everything for me without it being some form of love." Sherlock started to uncurl himself a fraction. "Why you killed that cabbie without even knowing me. Why you're still here after a terrorist kidnapped you and strapped you with a bomb. No sane person does this." He finished, glancing over at his flatmate. John was blushing more seriously now, the words Sherlock was offering obviously being true on some level. "Though if it weren't for this astounding loyalty of yours, I would probably be dead a dozen times over." John huffed out an unsteady laugh.

"Finally, something I can agree with." John snipped.

"Judging by the amount you've been blushing, I would amend that statement to "Finally, something I can agree with verbally." John." Sherlock corrected, because it was stunningly obvious.

"Prat." John spat out, crossing his own arms at this point. Sherlock saw the thought process and when John let out a particularly frustrated sigh, he was hardly surprised. "What is wrong with us?" John asked, not asking Sherlock directly.

"The social conventions of manliness specifically prohibit a willingness or an understanding for expressing one's feelings." Sherlock recited. "So do away with social convention, John. It's why we're having this conversation." John responded with another frustrated sigh and ran his hands up and down his thighs absentmindedly. Sherlock couldn't help but watch his hands, wondering what the roughness of John's jeans would feel like under his own palms and fingertips.

"I hate admitting that you're right. Your ego flares up in the worst way." John groaned out. Sherlock suppressed a smile. "You already know you are. You know more about me than I do, and that's from a mostly silent partnership and the occasional deep and meaningful story." John said, the tone of his voice finally falling into acceptance. "You're a bloody arse for not letting me come to my own conclusion, yet again." Silence fell between him. Sherlock felt like he was taking every other breath as to not disturb John or his rushing thoughts. "I can't deny that there is a connection between us. I can't sit here trying to lie to you and tell you I haven't thought about... us. Together. As more than just flat mates or colleagues or friends. My mind just keeps screaming the same things at me. How I'm not gay. How this would complicate everything. How easy it would be for all of this to fall apart. What would happen to either of us if it did." John finished.

"Is this what most people think about before entering a relationship?" Sherlock asked. John shrugged but gave a little half nod. "It's horrendous." John smiled wearily and nodded again. Sherlock paused, almost looking to John for a silent confirmation to answer the questions he didn't really ask. John rolled his eyes and gestured him to proceed. "While I may understand why and where it comes from, this denial of homoerotic feelings is confusing for me. We are two people who are attracted to each other, what should the gender matter?" John looked shocked, as if he had never considered this before. "As far as your other concerns, they are much more valid. You know how passionate I am about my work and how I tend to not notice anything else during a case. It would be difficult, but for all intents and purposes, it would work. It would work because you are part of the cases, and I would still focus on you. Obviously not like I would when there wasn't a case." Sherlock finished.

John sat quietly, contemplating all the things Sherlock had just said. They weren't overly selfish and as an added surprise, they made quite a lot of sense. Which in itself was terrifying. What seemed more terrifying to John at the moment was that he was actually considering this relationship. No, it wouldn't be easy. Far from it. He had never ceased to be fascinated and amazed by Sherlock Holmes, and this night had proved to be no different.

"You are making a lot of sense. I don't know if it's because your logic is actually correct in this, or if it's because I'm still filtering a lot of liquor out of my system, but you're making decent sense." John said, a rather shocked look on his face.

"Of course I'm making sense. I've been thinking about this quite extensively." At John's confession, Sherlock began to uncurl himself from himself and spreading out in the chair as he spoke.

"So... what now?" John asked after a few moments of heavy silence. Sherlock tented his fingers in front of his lips and John couldn't help but stare. Sherlock had been right, he always was. It suddenly felt like this fog was lifted from his eyes when it came to his slightly... no, very attractive flat mate. It had felt like he had been denying himself something for so long, like trekking through the desert without water. He was parched, and Sherlock was undeniably a tall glass of water ready to be enjoyed the best it could. "And what about Moriarty?" Sherlock looked at him curiously.

"What about him?" Sherlock asked back. Realization settled over Sherlock uncomfortably. "Ah yes, I had almost forgotten. Monogamy. Yes?" John could only nod slightly, embarrassed to be asking. "Jim has always known, or at least suspected, my fondness for you. It's why he kidnapped you. He knew how it would affect me. I doubt he would be surprised if he found out, though I would imagine angry. His narcissistic personality disorder would not want to accept the rejection." Sherlock said with a frown.

"So that would be a problem. I don't want him to kidnap me again... or worse." John said, trying to laugh and make it more lighthearted, but it didn't come out that way. Both of them settled into the fear of how dangerous this could really be.

"He's an adult, regardless." Sherlock said as he waved his hand through the air, trying to brush the offending thought away like a fly. It was then that John finally noticed that the sky outside was lightening.

"Well, shit." John said, his face transforming from awake to exhausted in a matter of milliseconds. "I suppose it's time for bed, yeah?" He asked as he stood and collected both of their mugs before placing them in the sink to be washed in the... afternoon. Whenever he woke up next. He stretched himself and was turning around when he yelped. He hadn't heard Sherlock get up or walk into the kitchen, but all the sudden, there he was. He still smelled slightly of sex, but John could still smell faint wasps of his expensive shampoo, cologne, disinfecting soap and tea. He smelled what could only be considered perfect. He could feel Sherlock's body heat and could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest. John glanced up into Sherlock's eyes and got lost. The color was like steel covered in ice. Pale and metallic, dangerous, hungry and beautiful.

"John..." Sherlock murmured, John's attention snapping to Sherlock's lips. Heart shaped and they looked incredibly soft. "I know you've had an incredibly rough night. I will never push you further than you ever want to go. I do want to do one thing..." John jumped slightly as he felt Sherlock's long, warm hand cup over his cheek. He fought the initial urge to nuzzle, but couldn't help himself when Sherlock started stroking his cheek with his thumb. He closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly, wishing at that moment he could purr like a cat. It was the best possible surprise, feeling those lips press against his own. Full of caution and trepidation, Sherlock held the kiss for a moment. John's heart had all but stopped. It was beating too fast and too slow all at the same time, and it was making him dizzy. Sherlock pulled away and John let out a small breath he had no idea he was holding and swayed slightly on his feet. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock.

John didn't even think. He closed the small gap between them and pressed his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock opened his mouth slightly and ran his tongue over John's bottom lip, which immediately fell open and almost a year of longing was suddenly poured into the moment. Both men explored the other hungrily, licking and tasting where ever they could reach. After a few minutes of reckless exploration, both parted breathless, pressing their foreheads together.

"I need to sleep... and think... on all of this." John panted out and releasing his unconsciously clenched fists from the back of Sherlock's t-shirt.

"Of course, John." Sherlock panted back to him. Neither of them moved, not wanting to relinquish the warmth currently pressed against them. Finally, John backed away slightly. He pressed one more chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips and pulled away entirely, retreating to his room up the stairs. Sherlock sighed, knowing that now he would have to have an incredibly awkward conversation with Jim. Jim wasn't going to be happy. For the first time in almost 6 hours, Sherlock located his phone. Several new texts.

**Lestrade is hitting it off with some young thing. Will probably be home later. JW**

**Tara rang. It's officially over. Another pint or two then I'm stumbling home. JW**

**I don't know why but a part of me is really hoping you're awake when I get home. JW**

**It's strange to not have you texting back. Maybe you are busy. JW**

**Cab. Water. Bed. Remind me. JW**

Sherlock sighed scrolling through the texts. All of this could have been avoided if he had just remembered his phone, but sex complicates things. Addles the mind. Short circuits the firing of synapses. This whole situation could have stayed hidden in blissful ignorance until one of the participating parties had something different to say. It would have been so much simpler. Then he could have approached John instead of this whole mess being thrust upon them both. Sherlock was debating curling up in bed for a few hours when his phone pinged.

**So was he as good as I always dreamed he would be? JM**

**What does he look like when he's sleeping? I bet it's a lot more tortured than when he's been drugged. JM**

**I wouldn't know. SH**

**Are you telling me that I left for nothing? JM**

**No. We talked. It was necessary. You wouldn't have wanted to stay anyway. SH**

**I don't think you're in any position to tell me what I want, Sherlock Holmes. JM**

**Then tell me what it is you want, Jim. SH**

**I want to know what happened. I want to know what's going to happen. JM**

**Something I'm almost positive you will not want to know. SH**

The response was slow. Sherlock had always heard that issues in a relationship should be dealt with in person, never over the phone. However, getting Jim back here so soon would be dangerous, insulting to John and above all, tedious. Sherlock was sure he was tired of... emoting on such a level and wanted to express the same to Jim.

**What do you mean? JM**

**To be completely honest, I am rather tired of talking about relationships and feelings. I'm still exhausted from you and it wasn't much fun having John bury me in more. SH**

**Can we talk after I've had some rest? SH**

**Someone who doesn't sleep asking for a break to rest. Are you sure you didn't fuck him into next week? JM**

**I probably wouldn't be texting you if I had. SH**

**I suppose I can grant you this one request, pet. Contact me when you wake up. JM**

**You were spectacular this evening. Kisses. Jim.**

Sherlock had to double take at the signature. In their whole entire time of knowing each other, he had never once signed a communication with just 'Jim'. A shiver of panic shot down his spine and his first thought was of John. This was, decidedly, not good. Jim was dangerous. Even more so when his emotions were compromised. Sherlock tried to blink away the fatigue prickling at the back of his eyes. When had been the last time he slept? Not remembering, it washed over his body like a wave. Sherlock cursed quietly under his breath. There was no way he could go to sleep right now. He had to stay up and protect John. His body betrayed him and Sherlock yawned deeply. He should have pushed to make John sleep with him, but the dullness of his senses prevented him from seeing any potential problems.

His general hope was that Jim wouldn't act right away. Though knowing the man as he did, Sherlock was almost positive that Jim would have a plan already in place to take care of this circumstance. Sherlock knew full well that if his body was protesting this assertively, there was no way to fight it. He was going to have to give in and get some sleep. In a vain hope, Sherlock started typing out a message to Jim as he slowly shuffled toward his bed with it's still sex rumpled sheets.

**Please don't do anything either of us will regret, Jim. Both of you are too important. SH**

Sherlock stripped and slid between the sheets, allowing his body to relax a fraction. He knew that if Jim were to come while either of them were sleeping, neither of them would be able to hear. Maybe John would, his senses were always incredibly sensitive when he was sleeping. Sherlock yawned again and clicked out the light, snuggling himself deep into the warmth and the comfort of his bed. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy sleeping, because when it came, he took full advantage. It took up so much valuable time. 10-16 hours of unconsciousness that could have been better spent on an experiment or working a case. Sherlock sighed and as his brain clicked off and he melted into nothingness, the last thing he thought of was John.

\----------------

While John had gone to bed, he certainly hadn't gone to sleep. His body and mind were exhausted, and yet sleep wouldn't come. His mind was full of the things Sherlock had said, seeing both of them having sex, all the things that Tara had screamed at him. This whole night had been one big fuck up, and John didn't really know what to expect next. He'd listened to Sherlock text back and forth, if the pings of his phone were anything to go by, and then heard him shuffle off to bed. If he had known that Sherlock was actually going to sleep, he would have offered to sleep with him. Not sexually, but it was one of the little things he had been craving.

John found himself wondering what Sherlock looked like when he slept, what he smelled like. If he slept on his belly or his side, if he was warm or cold at night. If he hogged the blankets or talked while he slept. What Sherlock had said was true, there was a connection between them. Something irreversible and something untouchable that kept pulling them back together again and again. John could never fully explain to his girlfriends why he would have to run off during dinner or right before bed, none of them really understood. It was frustrating for everyone involved, but now there was something to be done about it.

While a relationship with another man hadn't yet occurred to John, it was unsurprising that the one man he would willing to choose to be in a relationship with was Sherlock Holmes. The man was just unfit for words. Maybe, in some language, there would be an adequate way to describe his mystery and his brilliance, but English couldn't quite encapsulate how the doctor felt. Sherlock was a force, much like nature, that could be devastating and breathtaking at the same time. John sighed. He never thought that all the events of this night would lead him here, laying in bed while waxing poetic about his slightly sociopathic flatmate. The air around the flat was still tense, emotions lingering around the place like ghosts. Betrayal, longing, romance, all hung around unsaid. Until today. John yawned, thankful to feel sleep settling deep in his bones. Maybe when he woke up in a week, everything would be different. Maybe this really was all some insane dream and when he woke up, he would be next to Tara. John knew better, and as he closed his eyes, his last thoughts were of how soft Sherlock's lips had been.

\--------------------

Jim Moriarty was the only one left of this trio that was not currently nodding off to sleep off the worse parts of the day. For all intents and purposes, Jim's day was good. Although the good doctor had certainly renamed the game all over again. Jim always knew that little do-gooder would end up being a menace, but hadn't realized the extent. Sherlock was his, Sherlock had chose him. Not John. From the way Sherlock told it, it was a miscommunication of ideals. From the way Jim remembered it, Sherlock had thrown himself at John and John had turned him down. Jim was there to pick up the pieces and finally add a certain brilliant detective to his entourage. What Sherlock didn't realize is you don't just get to leave.

He was standing at the window of his very nice flat, looking down at the bustling morning city. Normal people, unaffected by brilliance, moving closer and closer to their inevitable demise. It was as if he could take a magnifying glass from his pocket and sweep fire through the throbbing mass of ants below him. Anger, that deep well of anger started to rise up inside him. He didn't like to be cast aside. He didn't like to be used. Most of all, Jim didn't like to be replaced. Sherlock should have known better. Sherlock will know better. Jim smiled and looked back over his shoulder. Sebastian was sprawled out in bed, sleeping soundly. Jim adjusted the blanket that was wrapped around him.

When he had noticed that the sun was rising and he still wasn't asleep, he was spurned on to watch it. The sun was violent, which is why Jim loved to watch it rise. The sky always lit up like it was on fire, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if that's what London would look like ablaze at night. Granted, it wouldn't be nearly as quiet, but it would be breathtaking. The sun also fueled his anger. No one set him aside, no one had ever used him as a second choice. People had been drawn to him out of curiosity and usually stayed because their curiosity was never truly sated. Jim kept most of himself wrapped up and hidden away, which is probably why Sebastian was still here. Besides his usefulness, Sebastian was a good man to have around. He took orders well, sometimes too well. Sherlock had been a challenge, and Sherlock had always played Jim's games. Sebastian wasn't intelligent enough to realize it was all a ploy and his feelings usually ended up getting bruised. It was disgusting.

Jim left the bedroom and walked into the living room, another window waiting. He dropped the blanket and stood naked in front of the whole city. It was stunning how carelessly Sherlock had handled this. It was insulting and Jim didn't like to be insulted. His revenge would be swift, but he wasn't entirely sure how to exact it just yet. There was no possible way Jim was going to remember the end of their companionship with last night. A brilliant orgasm, followed by a hollow sense of being discarded. If this was ending, it was ending on his terms. Sherlock should have known better. He will know better. A wicked smile crossed Jim's face as he felt the gears of his mind start turning.

"Let the games begin..." Jim whispered to the still mostly sleeping city.

\--------------

It was dark. Quiet. The air smelled stale and hot, tasted salty and foreign. Sherlock's first thought was a basement, which was assuredly not where he had fallen asleep. Dreams never felt this real. What was the last thing he was dreaming? John. Beautiful, simple and perfect John. The John he had always wanted, pliant under his fingers. Sherlock remembered tracing imaginary muscles, licking at places he hadn't seen. Jim had never been one to be submissive. He would submit to ideas or plans or fantasies, but he was never truly submissive. It had been something Sherlock missed. He liked having control, being the one to guide and get the most of a situation. Whether it was sexual or not was no matter.

"John..." He whispered. The realization that he was not on Baker Street hit all at once. He wasn't dreaming and he certainly wasn't at home. Anger flared up fast, twisting his face into a snarl. "Jim..." He growled out. "Jim!" He shouted, hearing his voice echo. There wasn't much he could perceive. It was cold, he was in pajamas. How considerate, dressing him. Sherlock shivered. He heard groaning to his right, and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "John? John!" He said frantically.

"Sh'rl'k." John's voice was drunken sounding, heavy with sleep and possible sedation.

"John, oh thank the Gods. It's Jim, it's Moriarty. I know it. I'm sorry, John." Sherlock's words tumbled out in non-characteristic panic, followed by a deep breath to keep the tears that were prickling at his eyes back.

"Oh goody..." Came a groaned out reply. "Motherfucker..." John bit out. "How are you, Sherlock? Are you okay?" John asked, his doctor persona becoming his sudden default.

"I'm fine, John. I think he drugged you. I don't know why. Bastard dressed me." Sherlock spat out.

"He did drug me, that much I remember. And what do you mean he dressed you?" John asked as he started to take in more of his surroundings.

"I sleep naked, John. By now you should realize that." Sherlock explained, that bored tone coming back into his voice.

"Don't do that. Not now. I keep forgetting because I see you unconscious on the couch more often than I see you in bed." John replied, starting to struggle.

"What do you mean you know he drugged you?" Sherlock asked. "And stop struggling. Don't exhaust yourself, you don't know what he's planning."

"He came into my room. I don't know how long he had been there, but all the sudden I was awake and my gun was pointed at his face. He did what you do, staring me awake. But it didn't feel like you, it felt hot and angry, sad." John said with a sigh. "I was still waking up and there was too much adrenaline in my system to hear all of what he was saying. He was telling me that this was a mistake, that he never wanted it to be this way, how attractive I was. Then there was someone else, a fucking ginger who looked so damn familiar. I couldn't see his eyes through his damn sunglasses. I felt the pressure of a needle in my neck, and I couldn't move. He had a scar down his face... who ever he was. He took my gun. Moriarty said something about seeing him again soon and the world went black." John huffed out, slight pauses in his speech telling Sherlock he was still fighting for escape.

"Sebastian Moran." Sherlock said darkly. This was very, very not good. "John, stop struggling. It's not going to do either of us any good." Sherlock finally admitted. A great, untempered anger was starting to well up inside of him. This was crossing the line, this was something he had only thought of in the dark if his tryst with Jim were to ever end. They had talked about it, hushed away while John was out. Sherlock never took him seriously, and perhaps that had been his biggest mistake.

"Moran? Are you sure?" John asked, his movements getting very still.

"Yes, why?" Sherlock asked in reply.

"I knew him. In the army. We trained together, he was an excellent sniper." John said quietly. Sherlock bit back an audible snarl. This was so much worse than originally intended.

"Jim! James! This needs to stop!" Sherlock called out.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John hissed at him. Sherlock ignored him and kept shouting for his severely broken paramour.

"Jim! Come out here and talk to me! Face me!" Sherlock challenged. Both of them were suddenly silent, waiting for an answer in the darkness. There was nothing.

"So, is this how it goes then? Tell someone you love them and get them kidnapped? Rousing first date, I'll say." John huffed out sarcastically.

"Damnit, John, this is no time for jokes. I promise I'll apologize ten times over." Sherlock hissed back. Quiet fell over them again. "And take you out for a proper first date." He murmured, not intending it loud enough for John to hear. If he did, he didn't acknowledge it. Sherlock's mind was spinning, trying to pick up all the data he had once missed. Rope, not chains. The knots were tight and apparently inescapable, mostly because he couldn't find the damn knot. It was a basement and not sewers or something else godawfully large.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock." John's voice cut into the silence.

"Sorry? For what?" Sherlock asked him, his mind still making inventory on their surroundings.

"For this. For all of this. I should have said something earlier, both of us should have been able to be more honest... less afraid I suppose. I just, I don't know what to expect now, but I'm glad you're here with me." John finished quietly.

"John, whatever happens, can we agree to something?" Sherlock asked, suddenly terrified of the answer.

"I suppose." Came the reply.

"Whatever happens here, forget it. Don't let it seep into your memories. Whatever we experience, it doesn't matter. The only life we have to worry about is the one outside of this place, the one back at Baker Street... the one we're going to have together." Sherlock could feel tears well up in his eyes. He blinked them away furiously behind the blindfold. This was no time for sentiment or emotion. A jealous Jim Moriarty wasn't going to be kind or nice, he was going to be ruthless. Jim had once threatened Sherlock with burning the heart out of him. It filled the detective with a sense of failure when the realization had hit him that John was truly his heart.

"What do you think is going to happen?" John's scared reply filled his ears. It hurt so much to hear the terror in the soldiers voice. He had seen people killed in front of him. Though the difference between seeing the inevitability of death and being helpless in the clutches of the unknown were two completely different terrors.

"I don't know." Sherlock lied.

"If you're lying to me to make me feel better, it isn't working." John laughed shakily. Both men snapped their attentions toward the sound of an opening door. Heavy, like it was reinforced. It shut with a heavy metal clang and Sherlock could pick out one, no two, separate sets of footsteps. The air that was once stale suddenly smelled like expensive cologne mixed with cheap drugstore soap. One set was heavy, boots or a man burdened under an enormous amount of weight. The second was slight, bouncy, happy.

"Jim." Sherlock snarled.

"Oh, this takes me back to the time I took you to St. Petersburg. Do you remember, Sherly?" Jim's voice was pitched up, Sherlock could feel the dead smile plastered to his face. "You were all tied up for me. I remember making you beg for mercy." A small giggle. "Twice." The tone was flat, his unseen gaze was obviously fixed pointedly at John.

"Explain yourself, Jim, before I kill you myself." Sherlock snapped out, John staying mercifully quiet beside him.

"You know me, I don't like being replaced. I don't like being let go. I'm too important to you, at least that is what you always had me believe." Jim's voice was low but it was getting louder. Sherlock tried to move his legs and found his arms felt a sharp tug as he started to straighten them. The knot was at the base of the chair, clever.

"What you read in to my sentiments was nothing more than your own interpretation. You knew how I felt. You knew this wasn't going to be forever." Sherlock said hotly. Suddenly, his senses were filled with Jim. The heat of another body, the smell of his cologne, all the way down to the mint in his toothpaste. He had been upstairs getting ready, the bastard.

"I had always hoped that you would change your mind. That it would be forever. That your obsession with the common man would someday dissipate and all that would be left was you and I." Jim whispered hotly into his ear.

"John is not a common man." Sherlock bit out through a growl.

"It wasn't just John, Sherly. It was the Yard, your brother, the homeless network. All common people, too boring for you to ever be challenged by. I could have challenged you, Sherlock. I could have pushed you out of your comfortable little nest and I could have watched to fly. We could have had everything at our fingertips." Jim had pulled away from his ear and was talking to the both of them now.

"I never wanted any of that." Sherlock said quietly. He heard John's harsh inhale. "Leave him alone, Jim. If you're angry, take it out on me..." Sherlock smirked. "Or the little rent boy you keep in your employ." The slap that followed was harsh and it had meant to hurt. Sherlock's head was snapped harshly to his right. His cheek stung as blood raised to the surface of the skin.

"If I don't get to say mean little things about your toy, you don't get to insult mine." Jim's voice was under intense strain, he was trying not to yell. Sherlock heard a dark chuckle over by John. Moran was closer to him than he was to Sherlock.

"Forgive me. I'm just awed by your cowardice to choose kidnapping twice in a row." Sherlock said through the sting on his cheek.

"I admit, I am not a fan of repeating myself. I was blinded this time. Blinded by anger, by passion, by love." Jim murmured, still uncomfortably close to Sherlock's face. Sherlock stilled himself as he felt a hand slowly tangle into his hair. The touch was light, almost chaste until Jim fisted a handful of hair and wrenched his neck back. A wet tongue licked an obscene stripe up his neck to his ear. "Be thankful for both sets of eyes you still have." Jim whispered, and then Sherlock was blinded, having the blindfold torn off. He blinked through the sudden expansion of his pupils, shaking his head to get the spots to dissipate faster. His first bleary eyed look at John revealed no blood and no obvious sign of injury and Sherlock could finally see how they were tied to the hard plastic chairs.

"Did you tie these or did your monkey finally learn how to do it himself?" Sherlock asked, casting his pale eyes up at Jim's dark features. His jaw was set hard and he was doing nothing more than looking down his nose at a bound Sherlock Holmes.

"Sebby has been quite a good little learner. The same can't be said for your little sidekick, I'm afraid." Jim said, circling Sherlock slowly.

"Oh for fuck's sake, will you two cut it out!" John's voice broke through the tension. "I am getting rather uncomfortable and the sooner we get this torture, or what have you, started, the sooner it will be over." John finished, his breathing ragged and harsh. Sherlock watched as Moran's large hand raised up and clenched into a fist. Sherlock grimised at the sound of flesh and bone meeting and watched John spit out a mouthful of blood.

"Now, was that really necessary?" John asked through clenched teeth.

"Your opinion doesn't matter here." Sebastian's gruff voice barked out.

"That would have been nice to know a little earlier..." John said sarcastically while twisting himself about to get as comfortable as he could. Sherlock looked back at Jim.

"I never wanted to see you this way." Sherlock said after studying his features, watching Jim slowly spin on his heel to face the detective. "So twisted and ugly. You were something so beautiful and unique and that's why I wanted to be with you. Not this, never this." Sherlock said, staring unblinking into Jim's eyes. "What ever you do here today, you will regret it. This I swear to you. You will leave here and you will always look over your shoulder, waiting for me. It's pathetic." Jim's face had a slight twinge of fear that he quickly masked under a blank mask. Jim twitched his head over at Sebastian who ripped off John's blindfold. Sherlock watched as he blinked away the light and the spots and both of them locked eyes.

"Pathetic, my great detective, is pining over someone who never wanted you. Who only wants you now because of some heartfelt, gooey confession. I will end you, Sherlock Holmes." He whispered, pulling a switch blade from his pocket. John winced as he heard it open. "Just not yet." He finished. He circled behind Sherlock, both captured men taking in a sudden breath. Sherlock breathed out a sigh of relief as he felt Jim cutting away at the rope that held him. Quickly ridding himself of the rope, Sherlock rubbed circulation back into his wrists and fingers before tending to his ankles.

"Now, John." Sherlock ordered, standing and stretching out his lanky body.

"One thing at a time, pet." Jim cooed, watching Sherlock stretch himself. "When I decided to kidnap the two of you, I had this whole elaborate scheme filled with mazes and traps and one of you probably would have ended up dead." Jim closed and pocketed his switch blade. "Which would put me in the severe disfavor of my current paramour..."

"Assuming John was the one who died." Sherlock interjected. Jim giggled in response.

"Knowing the doctor would have died, Sherlock would have never taken me back into his life with open arms." Jim finished.

"Or at all, limey git." John muttered, earning him an open palmed slap from Moran.

"The mouth on that one! I hope you will be able to put it to better use, pet." Jim said with a devilish smile. "Due to my current lack of finances, a place to build said dungeon, and the fact that it would have taken time and..." He smiled again, closing in closer to John. "Let's be honest, I probably wouldn't have been as vengeful a few weeks from now..." He hand was reaching out to touch John, who was trying to back away to his best ability. "I decided on a delectable little form of torture that I will be able to remember, have my vengeance and eat it too..." Jim finished with a flourish, tucking his free hand behind his back with the other. "Now John, I know you know better than to lie to me. Answer these questions carefully, because your life does indeed depend on them." Jim said, leveling his face with John's own. Sherlock watched John swallow hard, glance up to him then back to Jim and simply nod.

"Have you ever been with a man, Johnny Boy?" Jim asked, straightening himself and walking over to grab Sherlock's empty chair.

"Yes." John said quietly.

"I didn't quite hear you." Jim said, situating himself right in front of John, crossing one leg over the other.

"God damnit, yes." John said a little louder, a growl hidden deep in his voice.

"Multiple men?" Jim asked, picking some dirt from under his fingernails. John swallowed, glancing up at Sherlock again.

"Yes." John answered clearly, anger still hidden behind his words.

"Then why have you been telling Sherlock these nasty lies about you not being gay?" Jim asked, leaning forward.

"What people assume and what I've told him are different." John answered simply.

"I said I didn't want you to lie. I know you've told him that you don't think you're gay and that's why you can't have a relationship. Your conversation this morning even." Jim said, pulling out his phone. "I have a recording if you'd like to hear it." Jim said, playing with the phone in his hands. John sighed.

"I wasn't ready to admit it. The other guys were flings, one night stands... nothing meaningful. Nothing like Sherlock." John said, his eyes closed.

"If you lie to me again, I'll make sure you don't forget, John." Jim said darkly, pulling out his switch blade again, not opening it this time. John nodded. "Do you love him?" Jim asked, letting the switch blade twist through his fingers.

"From the first day I met him." John said, straightening his shoulders. "I'll never stop." He added. Jim snapped his attention to a surprisingly quiet Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't so much amazed by the answers coming from John, but he was most definitely stunned. Sherlock met Jim's eyes, and Jim tossed him the switch blade. Sherlock caught it with one hand, tossing it into the air and watching it twirl before catching it again. Sherlock then opened it and did his best not to run to the back of John's chair to start cutting the ropes free.

"What about you, Sherly? You feel the same as the good Doctor here?" Jim asked, standing from the chair as John was divesting himself of rope and frantically rubbing feeling back into his hands and feet.

"Obviously." Sherlock responded, stepping on the blade of the knife and snapping it from it's handle. He tossed away the broken pieces to separate corners before approaching John and wrapping him into a hug.

"Prove it to me." Jim said darkly, watching the two men pull apart to look at him.

"What are you on about now?" John asked, his hands not leaving Sherlock's arms.

"Haven't you heard about old tradition? When a husband and wife got married, it was customary to listen or even watch her deflowering. The sheets would even be hung from their bedroom to prove to the kingdom that not only was she a virgin, which meant the marriage was valid, but that now she was queen." Jim said circling around them both. Sebastian's smile flashed in the darkness as he lit a cigarette. "Granted, there is no hymen and John certainly is no virgin, but the principle holds up just the same." Jim said with a smile.

"Just let us go, Jim." Sherlock pleaded with him.

"These are my conditions, Sherlock. Meet them, and I'll disappear..." Jim explained. Sherlock could see the lie in his eyes. No matter what they did here, it would never be enough. Jim would keep coming back until someone was dead. Sherlock couldn't justify murder. John probably could, and Sherlock wouldn't be the one to stop him. Murder in exchange for a kidnapping? John wouldn't be able to morally justify it either.

"You're lying." John said flatly.

"Probably. These are still the conditions in which you two will leave here alive. Fuck, and be free..." Jim said, miming wings with his hands. Sebastian chuckled. John looked up at Sherlock, asking him silently if this was something either of them could even begin to entertain. Sherlock brought his hand up and cupped John's cheek.

"We do this, and we can leave, John. I'll call Mycroft, get him to pay for an expensive and luxurious vacation. We can sit on a beach, far away from London." Sherlock pleaded quietly. John brought his hand up to cover Sherlock's, running a thumb softly over the back of Sherlock's hand.

"The further the better, I want drinks and I want no interruptions. No phone, no computer, nothing. We're there for a set amount of days, free from everything. Just you and me." John's eyes were starting to glitter with tears.

"Weeks, John. Extended vacation." Sherlock said with a small smile. John nodded and stood on the balls of his feet to press a small kiss to Sherlock's lips. "State your terms." Sherlock said, his attention never wavering from John's face.

"You two do the nasty and you get to go back to your precious Baker Street." Jim said simply, walking over to a wall and fiddling with some light switches.

"Once." Sherlock said. Jim sighed irritably.

"Once, and I get to keep the tape." Jim called back over his shoulder. John finally broke their lingering stare.

"No tape." He said simply, waiting for Jim to turn around and face him.

"I'm sorry, John. It is, as you say, the spoils of war." Jim said with a flourish.

"Let him have it, John." Sherlock whispered, not letting go of John's waist.

"If I ever see myself on a porn site..." John murmured hotly.

"Then Mycroft will be the first to know, and his punishment will be severe." Sherlock finished for him, squeezing him softly.

"If that's all settled, the stage is set!" Jim said, and suddenly they were all cast in darkness. Much like a stage production, a bed was lit in one of the corners of the room. Brightly but still with color. John groaned and let his head bump against Sherlock's chest.

"If this vacation you're promising isn't anything but perfect, this will never be scrubbed from my memory." John grumbled out, his voice muffled against Sherlock's chest.

"Then don't think about all this, just think about me, John." Sherlock said, pulling slightly away and waiting for John to tilt his head up enough to capture his lips in a soft but passionate kiss. It was only broken by a pair of rough hands shoving them toward Jim, and both men walked slowly toward the 'set'.

"In front of the camera, gents. That's it. Slip off his jacket, Sherly. He looks a little warm." Jim instructed. Sherlock's hands slid under the shoulders of John's jacket and slowly watched the jacket slither off John's frame. Sherlock pulled him back in for a kiss as his jacket hit the floor. John's hands were wrapped around Sherlock's waist, not daring to move. "You're too stiff, Johnny! Loosen up a little..." Jim chided from the darkness. At the encouragement, John started sliding one hand up Sherlock's back, pulling them both closer together. John moaned as Sherlock's tongue finally slid across his lip, and John let him in, moaning deeply into the kiss.

Sherlock pressed his fingers underneath John's jumper and in a moment for them to both catch a breath, it was shucked off of him and Sherlock pressed closer, excited even more by the unfamiliar amount of body heat pressing against him. John's fingers started to clumsily undo the small buttons on Sherlock's shirt while he was pressing kisses to whatever exposed skin he could see. About half way down, John had to pause and pulled the tails of Sherlock's shirt out of his trousers. John and Sherlock were so lost in each other already that they couldn't hear the murmurs or instructions from the other two men in the darkness. John had finished unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt and had returned to kissing him, letting his hands roam over a new expanse of hot, pale skin. John broke the kiss to moan loudly as Sherlock's hand finally cupped over his erection. Sherlock snagged the chance to more or less rip the tshirt still resting on John's shoulders. The air was still as all three men took a moment to admire the skin colored star burst of a scar that blossomed across John's shoulder.

John watched as Sherlock's long pale fingers came up and touched just outside of the scar. He was pulling lightly at the skin, watching the scar morph and shape as it moved. The pads of his fingers ghosted over the middle of the scar, where the bullet actually entered, and John hissed in a breath. It wasn't fresh, or tender. It wasn't sore nor did it ache. John was reacting to the sensation etched on Sherlock's face. It was the look of a 5-year old rapt in fascination.

"Beautiful..." Sherlock whispered before pressing his lips so lightly against it, John could hardly tell the difference between his lips and air.

"You're the first person to ever say that." John whispered back, throwing his head back and moaning as lips pressed more forcefully against the fading wound.

"I've wanted to see it for so long..." Sherlock whispered in between kisses, all the while, stroking John through his trousers.

"You could have just asked." John said with a laugh that ended as a moan as Sherlock wrapped his lips around one of John's nipples. John moaned again as Sherlock's teeth closed around the taunt nub of flesh. Sherlock brought his hands up and gently pushed John backwards, until the back of his knees hit the bed behind them. John kept moving and he found himself wrapping his arms around Sherlock's legs and pressing kisses into his belly and nuzzling into the small amount of hair that disappeared beneath his waist band. Sherlock let out a breathy moan and slipped his hands through John's short hair. John felt Sherlock's strong hands on his shoulders, gently nudging him back. John spread himself backward, only keeping his eyes on Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled down at John before climbing onto the bed and straddling John's hips. Neither noticed or cared that they were still wearing trousers or shoes. Sherlock pressed himself over John, slotting the bulges in their trousers together, causing both men to arch into their opposite. Sherlock sat himself back up and started undoing the fly of John's trousers, smirking rather triumphantly when John's erection sprung free of it's confines and straight into Sherlock's waiting hand.

"No pants?" Sherlock asked, wrapping his hand around John's cock and pumping a few times. John moaned and his eyes rolled back.

"No time..." John breathed out. After some wiggling, a few giggles, and some deep and passionate kisses, John was spread out naked on the bed and Sherlock was busying himself with his own fly. Suddenly, a voice came from the darkness.

"Hold on!" Jim called, and there was some shuffling. A bottle of lube sailed through the air and landed close to one of John's hands.

"John..." Sherlock breathed out quietly, looking between him and the lube questioningly. John's face was full of unease.

"Ahem..." Jim cleared his throat, causing both of their attentions to snap at his invisible form in the darkness.

"If you love him, you'll prove it. Both of you. To the only judging God you have right now. Me." Jim said darkly. "Sherlock. Fuck him. Or you both die." Jim's giggle was breathy, but all the more terrifying. Sherlock and John looked at each other, and John simply nodded. If it weren't for the death threat, Sherlock would have melted at the knees. Sherlock quickly got out of his own pants, sans trousers of course, and finally they were both naked. They also both knew what Moriarty wanted. Sherlock was kissing down John's neck, biting and sucking little marks into the flesh and John took the opportunity to dip his head and press his lips against Sherlock's ear.

"Forget romance, forget exploration, Sherlock. We'll have plenty of time. I want this, we both do. It's been months of waiting..." He let out a somewhat fake moan as Sherlock turned his attentions toward John's scar to keep their clandestine meeting secret. "Fuck me, Sherlock and I promise you can make love to me later." Sherlock moaned into his new found lovers chest.

"Say it again. Louder. Fuck me, Sherlock." Sherlock managed to force out between kisses and bites, letting his hand travel lower to wrap around John and begin to stroke him.

"Fuck me, Sherlock! Please!" John begged loudly, earning a sinful moan from the darkness. "I love you." John whispered as Sherlock's body snaked down his own before swallowing his whole cock with no warning. John nearly screamed and bucked into Sherlock harder than he should have, but..."Your fucking mouth, Sherlock. It's so hot and perfect..." John groaned out, tangling his fingers into the mop of black curls. Sherlock reached out with a free hand, John grabbed it and squeezed it tight before placing the bottle of lube closer so he could grab it.

"I love you, John." Sherlock pulled off long enough to whisper before popping open the cap on the lube and spreading some over his fingers. Then Sherlock's perfect mouth was back worshiping his cock, while a slightly cold finger began to probe further and further down until it found that little ring of muscle and pressed in. Sherlock moaned at the tightness and the heat as his finger sunk in deeply. John was obviously not a stranger to anal stimulation, which only redoubled Sherlock's efforts. One finger was quickly replaced by two, and Sherlock was teasing the underside of John's cock with his lips and his tongue, watching himself scissor his lover open.

John was moaning and crying out, completely lost in sensation. While he was a big fan of anal sex, not many women were in to trying it. Especially when he was the one asking to be fucked. Sherlock was messing with his signals, there was too much pleasure all concentrated in one area. His whole body almost arched off the bed as Sherlock hungrily pressed three fingers inside of him. It was too much and it had been too long... Suddenly, most of the sensations were pulled away. Sherlock's mouth went to covering what it could reach with kisses and fingers were pulled out, relubed, pushed back in and pulled out again.

"Please... Sherlock." John begged, hungry and desperate. It was real, and Sherlock had to fight back tears. He never wanted it to be this way. He had always wanted to take his time with John, figure out what makes him tick. This need, this physical expression was dull compared to what he wanted more than anything. Tonight, in mere moments, he was going to glimpse the bare hint of what he wanted: Captain John Watson falling to pieces before his eyes.

Sherlock pulled his fingers out of John and rubbed his thighs slightly, calming him down enough to get John to open his eyes. They were so impossibly blue, but considering how blown open his pupils were it was hard to tell. There was desire settling between them, the world around them had begun to fade at the edges. Sherlock grabbed the lube and slicked up his own aching cock. Taking a split second, he looked at how wrecked John already looked. Passion and need started to pool in his belly, Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he wasn't the one getting fucked.

John whimpered as he felt the head of Sherlock's cock press up against him, and moaned loudly as he slowly started to push in. Sherlock wasn't huge, but he wasn't small either and John had to remember to relax. Sherlock was letting out a low moan as well, and suddenly John felt hot lips on his as their hips finally met.

"Fuck... John... you feel..." Sherlock bit out breathily. John was surprised at the swearing, never hearing much of that language from Sherlock. It was hot, raw and so perfect that a regularly reserved person could have a dirty mouth in the bedroom. John desperately wanted to know what else would fall from those lips.

"Move, Sherlock... please." John whispered back, and Sherlock pulled himself almost all the way out before sliding back in again, causing John to moan and twist his free hand into the sheet beneath them. Sherlock was slowly moving his hips, his eyes trained on the sight of his own cock moving in and out of John. Sherlock finally tore his eyes away to look at John, and moaned at the flushed and already sweating face twisted in pleasure.

"You're so hungry for it..." Sherlock moaned out as he started picking up the pace. "You should be, I'm sure you've been dreaming of this... since the beginning." Sherlock said darkly. John could only moan in response. Sherlock ran his hands down John's thighs, past his cock straining against his belly and up his chest to settle on his shoulders. Pressing his fingers into them, Sherlock leaned down. John's heat and moans made it hard to concentrate.

"God, John. You feel so good wrapped around my cock. I never imagined how hot you would be, how hungry. I can feel every inch of you." Sherlock whispered, licking the shell of John's ear, making John arch under him. "Now beg. Beg me to fuck you like you want it. You love it nice and hard, so beg me for it." Sherlock commanded, nipping carefully at John's jugular, wishing he could taste the man's pulse.

"Fuck, Sherlock. I need it. I need you to fuck me so hard, I need it so bad. I want to feel you fucking me rough, leaving bruises. God, please... Fuck me." John begged out, venturing to touch Sherlock's pale hip. Sherlock let out a fierce growl before pressing his lips against John's.

"Fuck him right, Sherlock..." Jim moaned from the darkness. He probably had Moran on his knees. He probably wasn't even recording. It didn't matter. Sherlock threaded his arms under John's knees, angling him slightly and wrapping his legs around Sherlock's trim waist. Roughly grabbing for John's wrists, Sherlock pinned them over John's head in one swift movement, a gasp of surprise and arousal ripping out of him. Sherlock tossed aside all care and abandon and started fucking John with malice. The whole air of the room changed. Sherlock's touch was rough and bruising. John's moans falling out in a cadence of curse words and half screams, begging for more. A few moans echoing in from the darkness, Jim was getting close too.

Both Sherlock and John were moaning loudly, curse words dripping from their lips and captured up with moans and the echoing slap of skin on skin. John's hands were finding holds in each other pressing half moons into his palms, his body now just along for the ride Sherlock was taking him through at a bruising pace. Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John's precum wet erection and started pumping him in off strokes to his pounding beat. All at once, John's body arched and he came loudly all over his own chest, clamping down around Sherlock. Sherlock bit out a cry and came deep inside John, vision blurring from the intensity. Both started gasping for air, like fish out of water. Sherlock bent down to capture John's mouth, and was lost in the scent of cum and sweat and arousal. He didn't notice Jim appear out of the shadows and stick a needle into John's neck.

Sherlock only noticed when John's body went unnaturally limp and he looked up and locked eyes with Jim, who was smiling and looked severely debauched himself. Sherlock heard the tinkle of glass breaking in the distance and his eyes narrowed.

"What did you do." It wasn't a question.

"A simple sedative, love. Don't worry, it will be your turn soon enough. By the time both of you wake up, Sebby and I will be out of the country. I didn't want to leave without saying good bye." Jim said wickedly, reaching out and grabbing Sherlock's chin. "Now get off him." Jim snarled.

Sherlock moved away from his unconscious lover and spread himself out on a corner of the bed that had been relatively unused. If this was what Jim wanted, it's what he would get. Jim's clothes had all but disappeared and he was crawling over John toward Sherlock.

"It's only been a few hours, Sherlock. Maybe 8 since I last was inside of you." Jim said, pulling up close, his fingers already circling Sherlock's tight hole. Both men were surprised when Jim's finger was met with little resistance as it pressed inside. Jim groaned with all the lust he had in his body and managed to find the bottle of lube. Unceremoniously slicking up his cock, pulling Sherlock closer and sinking in. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek at the uncomfortable stretch, but didn't have time to get used to it. Jim started fucking him hard and fast, taking him like when they first met. No regard for Sherlock's body, just single mindedly concerned for his own release.

After a few moments of a relentless pace and some quick thrusts over his prostate, Sherlock was hard again and Jim already had Sherlock trapped inside his fist. Sherlock was biting back his moans, he didn't want John to hear. Not that it mattered, John was out cold. The sex was bruising, angry. It was meant as a punishment. Jim was taking everything he wanted and was leaving nothing behind. Sherlock cried out as another orgasm was ripped from him, and whimpered as he heard Jim pull out. Sherlock closed his eyes and felt hot ropes of cum fall on his face and neck in time with Jim's moans. Silence. Sherlock expected to be drugged as well and only cracked his eyes open when Jim cleared his throat. He was holding a syringe and Sherlock could see the outline of Moran standing where the darkness met the light.

"This is how I want to remember you. Possessed. Mine. You look simply breath taking covered in my cum, Sherlock." Jim began. Sherlock refused to move. Even when he felt Jim's free hand snake up around his neck, and press, limiting his air flow. "I am going to miss you." Jim whispered quietly enough that Sherlock could barely hear. "Look at me." He commanded. "Next time we see each other, I owe you. I owe you heart break. I owe you this feeling of losing everything you love. This is only the beginning of the end, Sherlock Holmes." Jim said with a finality and a crushing grip on his windpipe. Sherlock gasped for breath slightly as he felt the needle slide into his neck. As darkness crept in on the edges of his vision, he saw Jim's eyes glistening. Then the bed shifted, he could breathe and there was only blackness.

\----------------------------

Something wet and warm was patting his face when he finally returned to consciousness. Sherlock cracked open his eyes to see a blurry blonde blob wrapped in a grey blob dabbing at his face. As things came into focus, he could make out John and that his lips were moving. John was trying to say something to him, but he couldn't hear. He felt like he was trapped underwater. Trapped underwater but still able to breathe. Odd.

"-lock. Sherlock, answer me. Come on... Sherlock." John's voice slid into focus. Sherlock was aware that he too was under a blanket, that the basement/warehouse they were in was lit and that there were several other people milling about.

"John..." Sherlock rasped out, his throat drier than the desert.

"Thank fucking God, Sherlock." John breathed out, dropping the wet rag and wrapping his arms around what he could reach. "Don't worry, I cleaned you up before I called Greg." John whispered into his chest, squeezing him a little tighter. Sherlock brought up unsteady arms and wrapped them around John, who shuddered out a dry sob.

"It's okay, John. He's gone now." Sherlock said, unease still in his voice. He was still too loopy to properly lie to John.

"I don't care. All I care about is that you're alive and safe..." John murmured and Sherlock could hear the encroaching tears. Sherlock shushed him and laid a gentle hand on John's head. It must have been terrible for him. Waking up from a coma and an orgasm to see Sherlock in an unconscious state that he couldn't be woken up from. It made Sherlock grip him to his chest that much tighter.

"Greg said that we could leave whenever you woke up, with the promise to be at the Yard tomorrow by 2 in the afternoon. A late day, he said." John murmured. "No tape, no fingerprints, no evidence. They cleaned everything before they left, Sherlock, except us." All the information fell out of John as he pulled himself off of Sherlock's chest. "Can we please go home and sleep now?" John asked, running his knuckles softly down Sherlock's cheek.

"Of course, John." Sherlock said with a small smile, pulling John closer and giving him a small kiss. Their clothes had been taken but John had managed to convince Greg to find them something akin to medical scrubs. Sherlock's coat was thankfully not among the clothing found at the scene, and both men were escorted home by a competent (if not very green and very confused) new officer. Mrs. Hudson gave them both frantic hugs and was worried, but could now sleep because her two boys were home. Sherlock and John padded up the stairs, holding hands. John paused at the landing, turning to Sherlock to ask if he should keep going upstairs.

Wordlessly, Sherlock pulled him into the living room and back towards his bedroom. He pulled John close and kissed him softly, pressing kisses to the skin he was currently unwrapping at an aching pace. Both of them needed actual sleep, but they lazily undressed each other and crawled into bed. John curled up close to Sherlock, who wrapped John up in his arms and kissing the top of his head, tucked them both in. Both held the other close, tightly, until sleep over took them, limbs still tangling all through the night.


End file.
